


Kintsugi

by enigmaticblue



Series: Between the Shadow and the Soul [4]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Community: seasonal_spuffy, Episode: s06e10 Wrecked, F/M, Season/Series 06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-05-19
Packaged: 2018-06-09 11:21:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6903808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brokenness can be beautiful, particularly when you can be broken together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pieces of a Life

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: There is mention of the fearsome foursome (Angelus, Darla, Drusilla, and Spike) as well as references to what they got up to. It's relatively vague, and I don't think it would be triggery (far less graphic than the mentions of what they did in the series), but YMMV. If you're concerned, it's in Part III, and you can scroll right past if you need to.
> 
> Written for the 2016 spring Seasonal Spuffy challenge, A New Era, with a hat-tip to garnigal for the title. For those of you who don’t know, kintsugi is the Japanese art of golden repair: repairing broken pottery with lacquer dusted or mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum. As a philosophy it treats breakage and repair as part of the history of an object, and not something to disguise. For the purposes of this fic, the prior story ended somewhere in the vicinity of “Smashed/Wrecked” and this one picks up right after that one.
> 
> Note: If I haven’t already nattered on enough, I am throwing canon out the window here. This is a smaller story than I had intended, but real life got in the way, and it's not quite as long as I wanted it to be. I hope you all enjoy it anyway.

When Buffy had been a child, after whatever holiday provided her with a pile of candy—Halloween and all her trick-or-treating, or Christmas and the net bag of gold-foil covered chocolate coins, Easter with its chocolate eggs and bunnies—she had hoarded it carefully.

 

She’d known exactly how many pieces or packages of each kind of candy she had, and she’d savored each one, doling them out slowly to make them last.

 

It was probably a crappy metaphor that broke down upon too much scrutiny, but she felt like her time with Spike was exactly like her candy stash.

 

She wanted to hoard it, to treasure each moment he was with her—and she didn’t want to share him with anybody.

 

Buffy wasn’t ashamed of Spike, or of their relationship. She didn’t want to hide it from her friends because of _that_ ; they had dealt with it well enough before he’d left Sunnydale the last time.

 

Spike was _hers_ , though, and she wanted to savor him. He was one of the few parts of her life that felt like it belonged to her alone, and was an unadulterated good. She had to parcel out so much of herself, felt like so much of herself was missing, that she didn’t want to share him, too.

 

And she knew she would have to tell everybody someday, because Dawn was Dawn, and Slaying was Slaying, and there would be another apocalypse—but that day was not today, and she would hold off as long as possible.

 

Buffy didn’t sleep deeply very often, and so she woke when Spike did. He sat up suddenly, dragging the sheet off of her as he did.

 

He took in a deep, audible breath, and then another, and Buffy remained silent. They were at her place, but Spike had climbed in her window after Willow and Dawn were in bed, silent as a ghost.

 

He hadn’t had a nightmare in the two weeks he’d been back that she knew of, but Buffy knew that bad dreams weren’t so easily banished.

 

She was silent, sympathetic to his need to project strength even when weak, even though she hadn’t been before. Finally, when he didn’t say anything, she put a cautious hand over his. “Spike?”

 

“Sorry to wake you,” he muttered, his voice rough with sleep. “I know you don’t sleep all that well.”

 

But he turned his hand over and interlaced their fingers, and Buffy took that as a good sign. “What do you need?” she asked, because she’d wished a hundred times that someone would ask her that question since she’d been resurrected.

 

“You,” he said simply.

 

She felt her lips curve up in a smile, noting that it came a little easier these days. They were still learning how to be together, relearning their desire for each other, but Spike had been a respite for her in the past, and so he was again.

 

He turned and kissed her, lightly at first, and then deepening it, and Buffy clutched his bare shoulders, unafraid of bruising him.

 

In her bed, they had to be quiet, but there was a certain thrill to that as well, the illicit pleasure of stifled gasps and moans, the titillation of possible discovery, not unwelcome but unwanted at this stage.

 

Spike slid into her with ease, his fingers teasing her clit, pushing her over the edge again.

 

She wondered if sex did the same thing for Spike that it did for her, reminding her that she was alive, and that it wasn’t always a bad thing. Or maybe their lovemaking grounded him in the present, reminding him that he was no longer in the Initiative labs, that his body was his own again.

 

And then all thought was banished by the pleasure rolling through her.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike probably should have minded more that Buffy was keeping him a secret, but he didn’t. He didn’t particularly want to share her either, and in their moments together, she clung to him possessively. She seldom talked about her friends or Dawn, although he’d picked up on a few things.

 

Since he wanted to do anything he could to support her, he was on board.

 

“I have to go,” he whispered reluctantly, waking her gently just before the sun began its ascent.

 

“Mm, really?” Buffy asked.

 

“Sun’s nearly up, and I’m not sure you want me stuck here all day,” Spike replied. “If I’m going to leave, it has to be now.”

 

Buffy pouted and pulled him in for another kiss. “You’d better get going then.”

 

“See you soon,” Spike promised and then found his scattered clothing and pulled it on. He paused to give her one more kiss and departed through the window.

 

He took a deep breath once he was outside, standing on the front lawn of the Summers’ residence, and quickly shook out a cigarette and lit it. The pre-dawn sky was just beginning to lighten, and he tipped his head back as he exhaled smoke.

 

Spike didn’t regret returning to Sunnydale, if only to be with Buffy, but that didn’t mean he was comfortable here. Leaving Sunnydale the last time had helped, just to prove that he _could_. Getting the chip out of his head had helped more. Returning to Sunnydale of his own volition, because he wanted to see Buffy, had also helped.

 

But there were still nightmares, and Spike still found himself looking over his shoulder for any sign of soldiers trailing him. Occasionally, he would lose track of where he was, or something would remind him of the Initiative labs, and he’d be back there again.

 

The difference now was that Spike could keep it together; Buffy needed him to be strong, so he’d be strong.

 

Spike had remade himself for someone he loved before, and he could do it again. When Buffy needed something other than his strength, he’d offer that up as well.

 

Spike didn’t bother trying to sleep, knowing from experience that he was likely to drop back into a nightmare. Instead, he took to the tunnels.

 

He’d never really had a chance to establish a network here in Sunnydale, but he knew it was necessary. He couldn’t rely on Buffy for blood and smokes, because money was tight. Eventually, she might need money from him, and Spike wanted to be prepared.

 

Spike had a certain cachet in the demon community for spending so long in the Initiative labs and emerging unscathed—at least so far as they knew. Those who knew about his relationship with the Slayer thought he was being opportunistic at best. Or perhaps they thought he’d had his brain scrambled.

 

Not that it mattered, as long as Spike could get what he needed. He was a decent poker player, and there was occasionally paid work for a vampire willing to run a few errands. He knew just where to look, too.

 

Willy’s bar was deserted this early in the day, but Spike poked his head in long enough to see who was around, then headed out again. The next spot was a place he didn’t think the Slayer knew about, a demon hideout for those who don’t want trouble.

 

Since Spike _didn’t_ want trouble, that suited him just fine.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the great Houdini,” Maris said as Spike swaggered in. “I heard you left town.”

 

Spike shrugged. “I left, I came back. How’s business, Maris?”

 

“Same as it always is,” she replied, her oddly shaped, two-tone eyes giving evidence of her mixed parentage. “You know I don’t like trouble here, Spike, and you’re nothing but.”

 

“I’ve turned over a new leaf,” Spike protested. “I’m reformed.”

 

Maris raised her eyebrows. “The rumors are that you and the Slayer are hooking up.”

 

“I don’t kiss and tell,” Spike replied, leaning against the counter. “You have any poker games I can get in on?”

 

“For the right price,” Maris admitted. “I also have some errands you can run for me if you’re hard up for cash, and assuming you can take care of yourself.”

 

Spike gave her a hard look. “The rumors of my neutering have been greatly exaggerated.”

 

“What are you up to, Spike?” Maris demanded.

 

“I’m sticking around Sunnydale,” Spike replied. “And I’d like to have a source of income now that I’ve turned over a new leaf. Doesn’t have to be legal, but it does need to be something that won’t get me staked.”

 

“You’re sleeping with the enemy,” Maris pointed out. “But I’ll admit that she’s better than most. She shut down the Initiative.”

 

Spike hitched a shoulder. “She’s had a rough go of things. I want to make things easier, not harder.”

 

Maris shook her head. “You always were a romantic.”

 

“Guilty as charged,” Spike replied. “So, we have a deal?”

 

Maris hesitated. “You give your word that the Slayer doesn’t darken my door, and you’ve got a deal.”

 

“She doesn’t even know about you or this place,” Spike said. “And I have no intention of telling her.”

 

Maris shook his hand. “Done. Come by tomorrow, and I’ll have your first delivery.”

 

Spike had returned to Sunnydale for Buffy, it was true, but he also knew that he had to be his own man, too.

 

Buffy had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and Spike wouldn’t be responsible for adding to her burden.

 

He didn’t want to see her shatter.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy made certain that Dawn got off to school the next morning, and while she might be a barely adequate parent, she was holding it together. Dawn went to school, and her grades were good, and Buffy had managed to keep a roof over their heads this long.

 

She would need to get a job soon if she was going to keep the house, though.

 

Buffy spent the day collecting applications from various places, and quickly discovered that the job options in a town like Sunnydale were pretty sparse. There were a couple of medical and law offices that had advertised in the classifieds that paid well, but required an early start, which didn’t exactly fit with her lifestyle.

 

Retail jobs and food service seemed to be better options from a scheduling perspective, but they didn’t pay much. There was a little money coming in for Dawn from their mom’s Social Security benefits, and Dawn qualified for health insurance through the state since their dad was AWOL.

 

All of that had been worked out shortly after their mom’s death with the assistance of the social worker, one of the really useful things that she’d done to actually help.

 

Still, that money didn’t stretch far, and Buffy needed to supplement it somehow. Too bad there weren’t a lot of job options for a college dropout with a sacred calling.

 

By the time she’d collected half a dozen applications, Buffy was exhausted, and she returned home to an empty house and a note from Dawn saying she’d gone out with Willow. She fanned the applications out on the counter, picked up a pen, and stopped.

 

She just couldn’t deal with it right now, weariness dragging her down, and she shuffled the papers into a pile and pushed them aside, putting her head down on the counter on top of her folded arms.

 

Buffy fell asleep there, waking up as the sun was setting, and heard noises from upstairs. She frowned, not expecting Dawn or Willow back for hours; Tara wouldn’t have gone upstairs without saying something.

 

She went up the stairs, moving quietly in case it was a threat. The noise was coming from Willow’s room, and when she peeked around the corner, she saw Amy rooting through the magical supplies.

 

“What are you doing?” Buffy demanded. She really didn’t have the energy to deal with a home invasion.

 

Amy looked up from her rifling. “Buffy. Hi.”

 

Buffy crossed the room and grabbed her arm, hauling her to her feet. “Let’s go, Amy.”

 

“No, you don’t understand!” Amy protested. “I need the supplies. I have to get back to Rack.”

 

“I don’t really care,” Buffy replied. “I have a list of problems as long as my arm, and you don’t make the list.”

 

“I know where Willow went!” Amy said desperately.

 

Buffy rolled her eyes. “I do, too. She’s at the movies. Nice try, though.”

 

“No, she’s not,” Amy said, trying to pull away. “She went to see Rack!”

 

Buffy had no idea who “Rack” was, but she’d known that Willow’s magic use was getting out of control for a while now. Given how Amy clutched at the various supplies still in her hands, Buffy was betting it had something to do with that.

 

“Spill,” Buffy said, shaking her.

 

Amy pulled free, apparently sensing her chance. “I need those supplies.”

 

Buffy didn’t care what she took, but she knew she wanted Amy out of her house. “You have one minute to explain, and thirty seconds to get what you need.”

 

“Rack takes magic in exchange for making you feel good,” Amy explained. “He’s a big deal—a real bad guy.”

 

“Then what is Willow doing there?” Buffy asked.

 

“He makes you feel good,” Amy replied. “But now that he has Willow, he doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

 

Buffy felt nothing but disgust. “So, you’re telling me this because you want back in with Rack, not because you want to help Willow.”

 

Amy snarled, “You don’t understand!”

 

“No, I guess I don’t,” Buffy replied. “But honestly, I don’t care. Get out.”

 

Buffy knew that Amy had a rough life, and that she’d spent a long time as a rat, and hadn’t been adjusting well. Maybe before Buffy had been in heaven and had been resurrected, Buffy would have mustered some sympathy. Right now, she couldn’t muster it.

 

She forced Amy out of the house, and then almost immediately thought better of it. If Willow was really with this Rack person, if he was as dangerous as Amy indicated, and if Dawn was with her…

 

Buffy rubbed her eyes, feeling despair wash over her. She didn’t have the time or energy for this, to hunt down her friends, or save them from themselves.

 

She didn’t have the resources to deal with her own problems or with Dawn; how the hell was she supposed to deal with this?

 

“Buffy?”

 

His voice was smoke-roughened and low, her name on his lips a caress. She felt relief as soon as she heard him, and she wasn’t about to question it.

 

Buffy was his sole focus, and god forgive her, but it was nice to know that someone thought her that important—not her calling, not her role, not what she could do for him.

 

Spike had seen her at her worst in Los Angeles, and he had shown her a sort of rough kindness that had given her strength enough to go back. When he’d returned to Sunnydale this time, she felt as though it was in the nick of time to breathe some life back into her.

 

“I think Dawn and Willow might be in trouble,” Buffy admitted. “And I don’t—I don’t know what to do.”

 

Spike closed the back door behind him and stepped closer. “What can I do?”

 

“I don’t know,” Buffy admitted. “Do you know who Rack is?”

 

Spike’s face was expressionless. “Can I make a phone call?”

 

“Sure,” Buffy replied. “Why?”

 

“There’s someone I know who might be able to help, but she runs a sanctuary, and she made me swear that you wouldn’t darken her door,” Spike replied, and she could hear the honesty in his voice.

 

Buffy hesitated. “Do you trust her?”

 

“I trust her not to make trouble for you,” Spike replied.

 

Buffy decided that would be enough for her. She didn’t have the energy to inquire more, and she had to trust Spike—she could trust him or stake him. There was no middle ground for them now.

 

“Make the call,” she said. “I need to find Dawn.”

 

~~~~~

 

Spike appreciated the show of faith Buffy offered, and the opportunity to keep his promises. He would help Buffy find Dawn, and he wouldn’t betray Maris’ confidence.

 

He dialed the number and waited for Maris to pick up. “It’s me,” he said. “I need some information on someone named Rack.”

 

“He’s bad news,” Maris replied. “And if you killed him, you’d be doing us a favor.”

 

“Us?”

 

“Those of us who wish to remain anonymous and stay off the Slayer’s radar,” Maris replied. “But be careful. He’s a sneaky son of a bitch.”

 

Spike sighs. “How do I find him?”

 

“Only supernatural creatures and those connected to the supernatural can find him,” Maris replied. “Open your senses, and find the disturbance in the Force. Start three blocks west of Main on Second Street.”

 

She hung up, and Spike muttered, “Bleeding hippies.”

 

“What was that?” Buffy asked, sounding tense.

 

“She said to use the Force,” Spike replied. “But I think I know what she means.” Her face was tense and worried, and Spike moved to comfort her. He put his hands on her shoulders, then caressed her face with one hand. “We’ll find them, Summers. Don’t worry about that.”

 

“I shouldn’t need to worry about it in the first place!” Buffy burst out. “I trusted Willow, and this is what she does?”

 

Spike wanted to reassure her, but if Maris thought Rack was bad news, he undoubtedly was. “We’ll deal with that when we find them,” Spike replied. He had no idea what else to say, powerless to do more.

 

“I wish it was just us,” Buffy blurted out. “I wish I didn’t have to worry about the rest of it, that we could leave. I wish I wasn’t stuck here.”

 

Spike wanted that, too. He wanted to bundle her up and whisk her away from all of this, from Sunnydale and its problems, but he knew she wouldn’t willingly leave her sister.

 

Even if they left, Buffy would come to regret it.

 

Spike kissed her tenderly, knowing that she wouldn’t always accept that tenderness, but wanting to gift it to her. He wanted to wrap her in cotton wool until she was better.

 

She wouldn’t accept that, so he would offer what he could.

 

“We should go,” Buffy said, pulling back.

 

Spike nodded. “Do you want to drive or walk?”

 

“Drive then walk,” Buffy replies. “It’ll be faster.”

 

At some point, Spike thought, Buffy had learned how to drive, and while she didn’t appear particularly comfortable behind the wheel, she drove defensively, cautiously. She didn’t drive the same way she fought; she drove like a different person entirely.

 

She drove like a little old lady, not that Spike was about to bring that up.

 

Buffy found a spot to park off of Main, close to where Maris had told Spike to start his search, and Spike got out and took a deep breath.

 

Rack’s setup was unusual, but not unheard of. Spike had known of those who basically set up psychic calling cards, where only those who were in touch with the darkness could sense the location—and by darkness, Spike meant the kind of energy that came from either having a demon, or using black magic.

 

“How do you want to handle this once we’re inside?” Spike asked absently, still following the faint trace of _wrongness_ he was trying to find.

 

“What do you mean?” Buffy asked.

 

Spike glanced at her. “If he’s a threat, and he’s human, do you want me to handle it?”

 

She grimaced. “Let’s play it by ear for now.”

 

He knew she didn’t want to confront the fact that he could kill a human now, and he was no longer defanged. Spike didn’t mind so much; after all, he had come back to Sunnydale for her, and he didn’t want to give her a reason to stake him, or to force him to leave town.

 

“Do you want me to stay out of sight, or do you care?” he asked, trying to sound nonchalant, and not feeling it in the least.

 

Buffy gave him a swift glance and a sheepish smile. “I guess I’m used to keeping you to myself, and I don’t want to share. But, no, I don’t care if Willow or Dawn sees you. Tara already knows you’re back, and—it’s fine.”

 

Spike understood what she meant. “Right, then. Let’s save your little sister.”

 

He didn’t care about Willow, not really. She wasn’t important to him, and she’d hurt Buffy by bringing her back.

 

Spike couldn’t be sorry that Buffy was alive, but he’d seen the despair in her eyes when he’d first returned to Sunnydale, and he wouldn’t forgive that easily—or perhaps ever.

 

He found the place by feel, sensing a void. Spike wondered if this was a side effect of his wish; he’d wanted to be enough for her.

 

“It’s here,” Spike said. “You might want to let me go in first.”

 

Buffy hesitated, and then nodded her agreement. “Agreed.”

 

Spike reached for the door he could sense but couldn’t see, and the knob turned easily under his hand. He stepped inside what looked like a living room turned into a lobby with threadbare furniture.

 

A young woman looked up when he entered. “Hey, you’re going to have to wait in line,” she protested. “Somebody already cut once tonight, and I need my fix.”

 

“Buffy!” Dawn says, leaping to her feet. “What are you doing here?”

 

“I ran into Amy,” Buffy replied. “Where’s Willow?”

 

Dawn waved at the closed door. “In there, with some guy. The movie already started!”

 

“The movie is the least of your worries,” Spike muttered. “Do we leave Willow here or not?”

 

“You can’t go in!” the other girl protested.

 

Dawn glared at Spike. “What is _he_ doing here?”

 

Buffy sighed. “First off, Spike is here to help. Second, he’s my backup in case things get out of hand. How long has Willow been in there?”

 

Dawn shrugged. “An hour? We got here a little before 9.”

 

Spike could see Buffy’s indecision—did she leave Willow to her fate or actually pull her out? From her expression, he knew when she’d made up her mind.

 

“We can wait outside,” Buffy said.

 

Dawn crossed her arms. “We’re supposed to be at the movies.”

 

Buffy sighed and rubbed her eyes, and said, “Dawn, please. We’re not safe here, and I don’t want a fight. Not right now. Take it up with Willow when we get home.”

 

So, they waited outside in uncomfortable silence—Spike chain smokin, Buffy with her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her face tight with tension, and Dawn unconsciously mirroring her sister’s expression and posture, unhappy to have her night out ruined.

 

With Dawn present, Spike thought, they were like three islands of misery, separate in their disappointment with what life had thrown at them, unable to bridge the gap.

 

Spike wanted to say something, to break the silence, but he had no idea what that might be. His priority was Buffy; his interest in Dawn was limited to her relationship with her sister, and how he might ease Buffy’s way.

 

He wasn’t sure how long he would have let the silence hang, but only about fifteen minutes passed before Willow stumbled out, her eyes completely black. “Buffy? What are you doing here?”

 

“I’m looking out for my sister,” Buffy replied. “What the hell are you doing?”

 

“I just needed a little pick me up,” Willow protested.

 

Buffy rubbed her eyes. “Spike? I need a minute with Willow. Will you get Dawn home?”

 

“Happy to,” Spike replied reluctantly. He didn’t want to leave Buffy alone with Dawn, nor did he want to be alone with the Slayer’s sister.

 

He didn’t _know_ her, not really. Their contact had been sporadic and always brief. He’d barely been able to stand the company of Buffy’s friends after his time in the Initiative labs; having any sort of patience with a child had been beyond him.

 

Dawn glared at him with frank hostility, and Spike met her expression with a bored look. He’d spent a hundred years with Drusilla, and had spent months being tortured by Initiative soldiers. One teenager didn’t scare him.

 

“Spike,” Buffy called as he turned to leave, and tossed the keys to the Jeep at him. “Take the car. Dawn has school tomorrow.”

 

Spike nodded. “You going to patrol after?”

 

“I’ll stop by the house first,” she promised.

 

“Can you even drive?” Dawn asked snidely as they approached the Jeep.

 

Spike gave her a look. “I’ll have you know that I’ve been driving motor cars since they were first produced.”

 

“So, you’re old, then,” Dawn replied. “Too old for my sister.”

 

“Younger than Angel,” Spike said, stung.

 

Dawn managed a respectable sneer. “That’s not saying much.”

 

Spike hitched a shoulder. “Yeah, I suppose just about anybody would be an improvement on Peaches.”

 

There was a hint of a smirk on Dawn’s face, and Spike felt as though he’d built something of a bridge.

 

“She really missed you,” Dawn said out of the blue. “After you left. If you’re going to leave again, you should just go. Buffy doesn’t need anybody else abandoning her.”

 

Spike was a little surprised. “I don’t plan on it. I want to stay as long as she’ll let me.”

 

Dawn sniffed. “We’ll see.”

 

Spike wasn’t interested in impressing Buffy’s sister, but he figured they should probably at least be friendly. “I promise you I’m going to stick around.”

 

Dawn gave him a long, assessing look, and somehow, Spike felt like he came up wanting. “If you do, that will be more than any other man has ever done, including our father.”


	2. Putting the Pieces Together

Buffy had no idea what to say to Willow right now, but she couldn’t help but feel like Willow had done the magical equivalent of taking Dawn to a crack house, therefore putting her in serious danger.

 

She’d given her life for Dawn, and Willow choosing to put her at risk felt like a slap in the face, as though Willow didn’t understand what Buffy had given up.

 

Buffy might have been ready to sacrifice herself _then_ , and she didn’t want to be alive _now_ , but Dawn was one of the few reasons that Buffy wasn’t actively seeking death. Spike would be the other reason, but he’d only recently returned.

 

“How could you do this?” Buffy demanded. “You put Dawn in danger!”

 

“Dawn was safe,” Willow argued. “It was just the waiting room, and Rack wasn’t interested in her anyway. Dawn doesn’t have magic.”

 

 _No, Dawn_ is _magic_ , Buffy thought, but felt it was stupid to say as much here, where someone from Rack’s could overhear them. “Come on, let’s get away from here, and we can talk.”

 

They walked away from Rack’s place, and Buffy planned on discussing the matter with Willow at length, but then a demon stepped into their path—hairy, naked, and uglier than the usual customer. “You summoned me, witch,” it snarled.

 

“What? No,” Willow said quickly. “You’re not real.”

 

The demon tried to claw her, and Buffy shoved Willow out of the way. “Seems pretty real to me,” Buffy replied as she punched it. “Come on!” She wanted to get it somewhere off the street, away from witnesses, where it could be contained.

 

They started to run, and Buffy swore as the demon bore down on them. She pulled Willow across a parking lot, and her Jeep came out of nowhere, hitting the demon head on. Spike stuck his head out of the driver’s window. “Let’s go.”

 

Buffy pushed Willow toward the Jeep. “You go, and I’ll finish it off.”

 

The demon was already getting up, and Buffy readied herself for a fight, hoping that Spike would at least get Dawn and Willow out of here before returning to help her. A demon that could survive being run over wasn’t one to mess around with.

 

And then Willow’s eyes turned black, her hands crackled with energy, and then the demon just burned up. If Buffy hadn’t seen it, she didn’t think she’d have believed it.

 

For a moment, Buffy was actually scared of her old friend, not recognizing the woman in front of her.

 

“You’re welcome,” Willow said smugly. “I guess a little car accident wouldn’t take care of the problem.”

 

“Considering that _you_ conjured it, I guess not,” Buffy snapped, irritated by Willow’s attitude, by her cavalier manner, and concerned about what she’d seen.

 

Willow reared back as though slapped. “Buffy, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

 

“I don’t care,” Buffy said bluntly. “You put Dawn in danger, as well as the rest of the town. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, Will, but I can’t deal with it right now.”

 

“You don’t understand!” Willow shouted.

 

“And I don’t want to!” Buffy snapped. “Get out of my sight. Come home when you’ve come down off that high you’re on, or don’t come home at all. But if you’re going to get fucked up, if you’re going to summon demons and risk others’ lives, stay away.”

 

It was harsh, but Buffy had enough on her plate to worry about right now, and Willow getting high on magic was a choice _she_ had made, just like Willow and the others had resurrected her.

 

They made choices for Buffy all the time, usually because they thought it was the right course of action—resurrecting her, Giles leaving, summoning demons—without thinking about the consequences. They all _wanted_ something from her, things that she didn’t have the capacity to give right now, and she didn’t know how to make that clear.

 

She could barely hold things together with all the usual problems flying at her; she didn’t need her friends adding to her burden.

 

She climbed into the backseat of the Jeep without looking back at Willow and immediately felt the tension between Dawn and Spike. She nearly groaned out loud.

 

“Good timing, Spike,” Buffy said. “Thank you. Dawn, are you okay?”

 

“I’m fine,” Dawn said, sounding sullen.

 

And _this_ was why Buffy hadn’t wanted to reveal her relationship with Spike. She hadn’t wanted to navigate all the complicated emotions that would inevitably be involved.

 

“Good,” was all Buffy could bring herself to say. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

 

“Home?” Spike asked.

 

And Buffy wondered if maybe, eventually, it might be considered his home as much as hers and Dawn’s.

 

~~~~~

 

Dawn’s words echoed in Spike’s head as he drove the Summers’ home, because Dawn was right about one thing: Spike had left to get his head together, and Buffy had died, and then had been resurrected.

 

And if Spike had been present, he might have saved her all that grief, even if it had been at the expense of his own life.

 

He’d been wandering the world, satisfying his own selfish needs, while Buffy had been here, dying.

 

How much might he have spared her if only he’d been stronger?

 

He got out of the Jeep once he’d parked in the garage, intending to leave Buffy and her sister alone to talk, but Dawn stomped off inside immediately, and Buffy sighed audibly and rubbed her forehead.

 

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out as they got out of the Jeep. “I should have said that before, and I didn’t.”

 

Buffy frowned. “Sorry for what?”

 

“For leaving you,” Spike replied.

 

“Did Dawn say something to you?” Buffy asked. “Because if she did, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.”

 

Spike hitched a shoulder in a shrug. “She said that men don’t stay, and she voiced her doubts over my ability to stick around.”

 

Buffy shook her head, and then grabbed his hand and led him inside. “You shouldn’t listen to Dawn. She’s still upset about me dying.”

 

“ _I’m_ still upset about you dying!” Spike said, keeping his voice down with some effort. “If I’d been here—”

 

“What?” Buffy demanded. “I wanted you here, but you were in no shape to stay. I don’t know what would have happened if you’d been here, but I know that things wouldn’t have gotten better. You were falling apart, and you needed to leave, and we don’t know that you being here would have changed anything.”

 

“I could have saved you,” Spike argued. “If I’d known—if I’d tried—”

 

Buffy moved closer, and put her hands on either side of his face. “Or you would have died, or maybe you would have made no difference at all, and you’d still be in bad shape. Maybe our relationship would have ended.”

 

Spike leaned in, keeping his touch light and gentle in a way they so rarely were with each other. “I left,” he said when he took a brief break from kissing her.

 

“You came back,” Buffy countered. “That’s more than most can say.”

 

“So Dawn said,” Spike admitted.

 

Buffy shrugs. “I’m not sorry they know about us, but I wanted to keep our relationship quiet a little longer. I wanted to keep you to myself.”

 

Spike removed the tie that held her hair back and felt it fall against his fingers. “I feel the same way.”

 

“Come upstairs,” she invited him. “Stay.”

 

“Dawn—”

 

“Will deal,” Buffy insisted. “You absolutely _had_ to leave, Spike, and I get that even more now. If I could go somewhere, leave Sunnydale for long enough to sort things out, I would, but I can’t. There’s Dawn, and the house, and the Hellmouth, and I just have to keep it together here. And I can only do that if _you’re_ here.”

 

Spike cradled her face in his hands. “What can I do?”

 

Buffy smiled at him tremulously. “You know, you’re the first person to ask me that question.”

 

“And your answer?” Spike asked.

 

“Be here.” Buffy searched his face. “Just be here as long as you can be. We can start again.”

 

Spike smiled. “You know, starting anew usually means forgetting the past, and we had some good times, you and me.”

 

“We did,” Buffy admitted. “And I wouldn’t forget it for anything.”

 

Spike nodded. “Then we’ll both turn over a new leaf. Fair?”

 

“More than,” Buffy replied.

 

They kissed again, and Buffy led him up the stairs to her room, and it was the first time they’d done this openly, without thinking of discovery. As much as Spike understood the desire to keep their relationship a secret, he appreciated this new openness, too.

 

She locked the door behind her, and Spike undressed her slowly and with care, letting her pull his t-shirt over his head. Buffy trailed her hand down his chest, and said, “I don’t really want to think about Willow tonight. I know I’m going to have to do something; I can’t let the fact that she put Dawn at risk slide.”

 

“You can deal with it when she comes back, and when she’s not high,” Spike said, resting his hands on her hips. “Don’t worry about it right now.”

 

And then he set about driving all thoughts of Willow and her problems from Buffy’s mind, wanting her to stop thinking entirely, to be focused only on her own pleasure.

 

Spike finished undressing her, laying her out on the bed, and taking her hands and closing them around the frame. “Stay there,” he said. “Let me take care of you.”

 

He wouldn’t hold her in place; he wanted her to choose to submit, to let him take care of her.

 

And Buffy gripped the rails on the bed, took a deep breath, and nodded her acceptance.

 

Spike knew she’d say something if it wasn’t working for her, and he grabbed her thighs and held on tight, leaning in to lick at her clit.

 

They still had to be quiet; screaming wasn’t on the menu, not when Dawn was in the house and Willow was also due home, but he could tell that she was enjoying herself from her helpless gasps.

 

When she came, Spike gave her a moment to gather herself, and then he began to put his mouth and his hands all over her body. He spent long minutes on her breasts and nipples, nuzzled her stomach and licked stripes up her neck, hearing that intake of breath that indicated she was aware of the danger and liked it.

 

Spike sucked a bruise onto her shoulder, which was bound to fade in a few hours. He caressed her thighs, her calves, her feet.

 

Buffy’s hips bucked, and she let out a low moan. “Spike…”

 

“Trust me,” Spike said. “I’ll take care of you.”

 

And then he used his hands and mouth to bring her off again, and buried himself inside her in a hard thrust, wringing a third orgasm out of her, Buffy shuddering through her arousal.

 

She stared at him, dazed, and he removed her hands from the rails, kissing each palm.

 

They were both a little sticky after that, but Spike had no intention of getting up any time soon, especially since Buffy seemed to be in the mood to cuddle.

 

“Oh, God,” Buffy muttered. “How are you so good at that?”

 

Spike opened his mouth to glibly reply, “Lots of practice,” but that seemed like the wrong call, bringing up past girls when they were in Buffy’s bed.

 

“Determination,” he replied instead. “I hate leaving a partner unsatisfied.”

 

Buffy rolled her head. “I’ll bet you were quite the lady-killer, between the poetry and the skills in bed.”

 

Spike had never told anyone about what he’d been like as a human, and he wasn’t about to start now. Still, he was feeling oddly tender, and she _did_ know about the poetry already. “Not so you’d notice. I think you were the first one to appreciate the poetry.”

 

“Really?” Buffy asked. “I would have thought you’d have wooed all the ladies with that trick.”

 

Spike laughed humorlessly. “Maybe if I’d used Tennyson, but I didn’t.”

 

“What did you use?”

 

Spike propped himself up on one elbow. “You’ll laugh.”

 

“I promise I won’t,” Buffy said.

 

“I tried using my own words,” he admitted. “I was a terrible poet.”

 

Buffy didn’t laugh. “But you’re really good at finding the right words when I need them.”

 

“’For verily love knows not ‘mine’ or ‘thine;’” Spike quoted. “With separate ‘I’ and ‘thou’ free love has done, for one is both and both are one in love: Rich love knows nought of ‘thine that is not mine;’ both have the strength and both the length thereof, both of us, of the love which makes us one.’”

 

Buffy smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

 

Spike caressed her cheek. “The romantics had a way with words.”

 

“So do you,” Buffy replied. “Stay?”

 

“At least until the sun comes up,” Spike promised. “I have a few things I have to get done, and I need to get to the sewers.”

 

Buffy nodded. “If that’s what you need to do.”

 

And it was nice, Spike thought, to lie next to Buffy, and to know that everything was out in the open now, and they had the chance to start over.

 

Maybe the time had never been right for them in the past, but now they had another chance.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy woke briefly when Spike left, heading for the window, and she called, “Spike, you can use the front door.”

 

A sheepish expression briefly crossed his face, and he dropped a kiss on her lips. “See you later, Summers. Patrol tonight?”

 

“We’d better,” she replied, and felt him caress her hair.

 

She went back to sleep for a little while longer, waking when her alarm warned her that she needed to get up in time to get Dawn off to school. Xander was still giving her rides, but he had to be at work on time, and Buffy couldn’t risk the social workers coming around if Dawn missed school.

 

This morning, at least, Dawn was up and around, and Buffy started the coffee. She was tired and not looking forward to seeing Willow later, but she knew they needed to have it out. At the very least, she couldn’t have Willow in the house if she was using magic the way she had been.

 

Dawn waved as she sped through the kitchen, grabbing a banana. “I’m going to study with Janice after school.”

 

“You _are_ studying, right?” Buffy asked, remembering Halloween all too well.

 

Predictably, Dawn rolled her eyes. “Yes, Buffy. Finals are coming up.”

 

Buffy nodded. “Be home by ten.”

 

There was honk from the front of the house, and Dawn asked, “What are you going to do about Willow?”

 

“I don’t know, Dawnie,” Buffy replied. “I guess it will depend on what she says when we talk later.”

 

Dawn nodded. “Gotta go.”

 

“Be good!” Buffy called, and then turned her attention to the stack of bills on the counter.

 

There was the mortgage, which was relatively low, thanks to her mom’s foresight and financial planning. The utilities stretched her budget nearly to the breaking point, and she still needed to get groceries this week, although Ramen and boxes of macaroni and cheese were going to continue to be staples.

 

She needed to get a job, and she wanted to go back to school, but she had no idea how to make that a reality, or balance the two with everything else going on.

 

Hell, Buffy didn’t even know what she wanted to do, or if a college degree was worth pursuing when she wasn’t likely to live long. She’d died twice now, and she hoped the third time would stick.

 

When she thought about it, and it crossed her mind a couple of times a day, she thought the worst fate that might befall her would be to die and not _stay_ dead, but to continuously be brought back over and over again.

 

Buffy was no longer afraid to die, but of being brought back. The first time had been a relief; the second had been a wrench that had left her a shell of a person. The third time was likely to drive her insane.

 

She stood by the kitchen window and looked out onto the yard, sipping her coffee, feeling the heavy press of her responsibilities.

 

She startled when she heard footsteps behind her, but her cup was empty, and so she didn’t spill.

 

“Sorry,” Willow said.

 

Buffy turned and refilled her coffee cup. “It’s fine.”

 

Willow hovered just inside the kitchen awkwardly. “I’m sorry I put Dawn in danger last night.”

 

Buffy sighed. “I know magic is important to you, but you’re out of control, Will. If you can’t rein it in, you can’t stay here.”

 

“I’ll control it!” Willow protested.

 

“No going back to Rack,” Buffy insisted. “He’s bad news.”

 

“I’ll try harder,” Willow promised. “I will.”

 

Buffy nodded, choosing to take Willow at her word, because she didn’t have the energy to spare for Willow’s problems. She still had to look for a job, and she had no idea how to even begin to help her, assuming she would even accept help.

 

And honestly, Buffy had far too much resentment towards her to try to force the issue.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike finished unloading the crates of alcohol, and then helped Maris open them and restock the bar. He lined up the bottles with the labels facing outward, and when that was done, Maris handed him a wad of cash.

 

“Thank you for your help, Spike,” she said.

 

Spike hitched a shoulder. “Thanks for the help with Rack. The Slayer was worried about her sister.”

 

“She was right to worry,” Maris replied. “Rack is a dangerous man.”

 

Spike hitched a shoulder. “I probably should have killed him, but the Slayer gets a little touchy about those things.”

 

Maris’ mouth tightened. “If you kill him, be sure to do the job thoroughly. He’s a tricky son of a bitch.”

 

“Noted,” Spike replied. “You got any other jobs for me while I’m here?”

 

Maris shook her head. “See you in a couple of days, though. I’ll have something for you.”

 

Spike pocketed the cash. “Ta, love.”

 

He took the sewers back to his place, where he changed clothes and then set off to meet Buffy for patrol. Spike needed some of that money for blood and smokes, but he planned to hand over the rest of it.

 

Spike had gone around the world for Buffy; a little manual labor to make her life easier was the least of what he was willing to do.

 

He stopped in front of Buffy’s house and lit a cigarette with a practiced motion and took a long drag, blowing out smoke in a long stream. Stiffening when he heard footsteps, Spike ducked behind the tree, holding himself very still.

 

The Initiative might no longer be in town, but there were still dangers.

 

He waited, ready to strike at the first hint of danger, but then realized it was only Dawn, walking alone.

 

“What are you doing walking by yourself?” Spike demanded as he stepped out from behind the tree.

 

Dawn jumped and gave a little scream. “Spike! You scared me!”

 

“Better me than some other nasty,” he replied. “Well? You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“I was studying at Janice’s, and her mom couldn’t give me a ride home,” Dawn replied sullenly. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

 

In one sense, it wasn’t his business if she got herself killed, and it might actually work in his favor. With Dawn out of the way, he might actually be able to convince Buffy to run away together, to leave Sunnydale behind for good.

 

On the other hand, he remembered the hollow-eyed girl in Los Angeles, and he remembered seeing an echo of that girl when he’d first come back to Sunnydale. Angel’s loss had been a burden that nearly flattened her; Dawn’s loss would be worse.

 

That loss would gut her.

 

“You think I’m unaware of what losing you would do to your sister?” Spike asked. “Although maybe you are.”

 

Dawn flushed, momentarily cowed. “I just didn’t want to bother her.”

 

“Be a lot more of a bother burying you,” Spike said caustically.

 

“God, what is with you?” Dawn demanded. “You disappear for, like, a year, and now you’re back like nothing changed!”

 

Spike thought of the letters he’d written, and the borrowed words he’d used. He thought of being beaten and left for dead, and his resolve, and seeing the demon about getting the chip out. He thought about the long trip back and the uncertainty of his welcome, and about finally, _finally_ feeling as though he and Buffy could make a go of it.

 

Dawn was still almost unbearably young, though, and she wouldn’t understand.

 

“Everything changed,” Spike replied. “That’s why I could come back.”

 

Dawn stared at him and then flounced off, passing Buffy at the front door without a word.

 

“What was that about?” Buffy asked as she joined him.

 

Spike shrugged. “Had some sharp words for her for walking home alone.”

 

Buffy grimaced. “Damn it. I told her not to do that. She should know better!”

 

Spike didn’t know what to tell her, figuring that Buffy already knew that Dawn was young and unaware of her own mortality, so he asked, “What did you do today?”

 

Buffy began walking toward the nearest cemetery and said, “Looked around for jobs again. There isn’t much available, other than fast food, and I just don’t know what I’m going to do.”

 

It was as good an opportunity as any, and Spike handed over most of his cash. “Here. It’s yours.”

 

Buffy hesitated before taking it. “I probably shouldn’t let you, but every little bit helps.”

 

“You said we were starting fresh,” Spike pointed out. “And I want you to know that I’m in this for the long haul. I want to make your life easier.”

 

“You’d be the first,” Buffy muttered, but she pocketed the money, and leaned in for a kiss. “Thank you.”

 

Spike was a little surprised when she didn’t ask how he came by it. “You don’t want to know where I got it?”

 

Buffy gave him a long look, and finally said, “If you want to make my life easier, you’re not going to do anything that will make me stake you, so no. I won’t ask where you got it, just like I won’t ask if you’re back on a people diet. I have to trust you, and that has to start somewhere.”

 

And it was at moments like these that Spike believed that this might actually work long term.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem from Christina Rossetti, "I loved you first"


	3. Beautiful Cracks

Patrol was actually uneventful, as it had largely been over the last few weeks. Most of the trouble had been coming from her friends—what with Dawn going out with the vampire, and Xander calling the singing demon, and Willow doing the tabula rasa spell and getting mixed up with Rack…

 

Now that Buffy thought about it, Spike had offered a sorely needed breather, and staking the occasional vampire together gave her a sense of control.

 

And now she was standing under the tree in her front yard, making out with her boyfriend.

 

Spike pressed her against the trunk, and Buffy really wanted to have round two with him right there, but there was Dawn to consider.

 

“We can’t,” she said regretfully.

 

“Yeah, don’t really want to give your sister an eyeful,” Spike replied regretfully. “You’ve got enough trouble with her already.”

 

Buffy kissed him hard. “I’ll come by your place tomorrow.”

 

“I’m going to hold you to that,” he said.

 

“And thanks again,” Buffy said.

 

Spike waved off her gratitude. “I’d do a lot more for you before it’s all over, Slayer.”

 

Buffy let herself into the house silently, and crept up the stairs, not wanting to wake anybody up, although she had no idea if Willow was home.

 

She opened her bedroom door and immediately demanded, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

 

Dawn glanced up guiltily, Buffy’s old shoebox opened on her lap. “Uh…”

 

“That was private!” Buffy snapped, grabbing the box and snatching the lid, cramming it back on. “I don’t go into your room and read your diary!”

 

Dawn glared. “I wanted to know why Spike could just come back, and everything was okay!”

 

“Because that’s how it’s always worked with us!” Buffy yelled, and then took a deep breath.

 

Sometimes she forgot that things had changed as much for Dawn as they had for her, and that this new change, with a new boyfriend, might have her off-balanced and worried that Buffy was going to abandon her.

 

And, considering she’d kept Spike a secret for weeks, Dawn might be right to feel that way.

 

“The first time we got together was when I ran away to L.A. after Angel died,” Buffy said, modulating her tone. “And it was never going to work, and we were never going to stay together. Last time, Spike couldn’t stay because of what the Initiative had done to him, and it was killing him to be here.”

 

Dawn looked down, shamefaced. “I didn’t really understand.”

 

“I didn’t really talk to anybody about it,” Buffy admitted. “Mom knew, and Willow knew a little bit, too, but it was between us.”

 

Dawn picked at some lint on Buffy’s bedspread. “I’m sorry I looked at your private letters.”

 

Buffy wasn’t about to tell her that it was okay, because it definitely wasn’t, but she also understood that Dawn was looking for answers, and this was standard procedure for a curious Dawn.

 

“You could try asking next time,” Buffy said wearily.

 

Dawn gave her a look. “You never tell me anything.”

 

“I did say _try_ ,” Buffy replied. Wanting to change the subject, she said, “Where’s Willow?”

 

Dawn shrugged. “She said she was going out. I didn’t ask where.”

 

Buffy grimaced. “All right. I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go out with Willow right now.”

 

“Are you going to let her stay here?” Dawn asked.

 

“What do you think?” Buffy countered. “It’s your house, too.”

 

Dawn frowned. “Is she helping with the bills? Because I think she should, and I think she should help out around the house, and she should do it without magic.”

 

“I think that’s fair,” Buffy replied. “Any other good ideas?”

 

“If Willow doesn’t want to play by the rules, I say we ask Tara to move back in,” Dawn replied. “She cooks.”

 

Buffy laughed. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

 

“Is Willow going to be okay?” Dawn asked.

 

Buffy really wasn’t sure how to answer that question, because she wasn’t always sure that _she_ was going to be okay. “I think that’s up to Willow in a lot of ways.”

 

Dawn looked her squarely in the eyes and said, “If having Spike here makes it better for you, then I’m glad he came back.”

 

“So am I, Dawnie,” Buffy replied.

 

And that reminded her that she needed to take control of her finances. The influx of cash from Spike gave her a little breathing room, but there were other considerations.

 

“What would you think if we had to sell the house?” Buffy asked quietly.

 

Dawn’s lip quivered briefly. “It would suck, but if we had to, I understand.”

 

“I’m going to do everything I can to make sure we don’t have to do that, but I can’t make any promises right now,” Buffy admitted. “The house is expensive to maintain, and the utilities are higher than if we had an apartment.”

 

Dawn nodded. “Being a grownup sucks, huh?”

 

“You know, it really kind of does,” Buffy replied. “I’ll talk with Willow tomorrow, after I’ve had a chance to go over the bills.”

 

Dawn hugged Buffy unexpectedly. “Thanks.”

 

“For what?”

 

“For asking me what I thought,” Dawn replied.

 

Buffy didn’t want to treat Dawn like a confidante exactly; she wanted her sister to have the childhood she hadn’t.

 

Then again, Buffy just had to worry about saving the world a lot, which was a lot less stressful than paying the bills in some ways.

 

“I promise that when it comes to the house, and what we do with it, I will talk to you before I do anything with the house and who lives here,” Buffy promised.

 

Dawn raised her eyebrows. “Even if you ask Spike to move in?”

 

“I think it’s a little early for that,” Buffy replied. “But yes, even if.”

 

“Deal,” Dawn said. “I should go to bed.”

 

“Hey,” Buffy said as Dawn left the room. “I love you.”

 

Dawn smiled. “Love you, too.”

 

And Buffy actually felt, for the first time in a long time, that she’d done something right where Dawn was concerned.

 

Of course, now she had to deal with Willow, which was another matter entirely.

 

Buffy stewed over it that night, and she took that thought with her the next morning as she finally tackled the bills and budgeting. She wrote down all her expenses, the money that was coming in, and then looked at the shortfall.

 

Realistically, Buffy couldn’t swing a full time job, not with Dawn and slaying. She didn’t want to count on Spike being able to contribute regularly, but with his money, she had this month covered.

 

But next month, she’d need at least $300 from Willow in rent, and help with the groceries.

 

Plus, with the upcoming visit from the social worker, Buffy was going to need help picking up the house, because she couldn’t risk losing Dawn.

 

“What are you doing?” Willow asked as she came into the kitchen.

 

Buffy knew she needed to take this opportunity to address the problem with Willow. “I’m going over bills, and we’re going to be short next month. I’m looking for work, but I don’t know that I’ll find anything in time.”

 

Willow grimaced. “That’s too bad.”

 

Buffy blinked, expecting a little more than that. “That was actually my really subtle way of asking if you’d be willing to pay rent, but apparently I’m better at subtlety than I thought.”

 

“Tara and I took care of Dawn all summer,” Willow objected. “We covered the bills.”

 

“And I really appreciate that,” Buffy said. “I do. But you’re living here, and I need some help, both with the bills and around the house. Dawn and I talked about it—”

 

“Oh? You and _Dawn_ talked about it,” Willow said snidely. “You didn’t think to check with me first?”

 

Buffy had no idea where this hostility was coming from, but she said, “I’m checking with you now, and I’m telling you that I need you to pay rent.”

 

“And if I don’t?” Willow demanded.

 

Buffy blinked. “I don’t know. I guess we’d have to talk about it. What’s this about, Wills?”

 

“I don’t have any money right now, Buffy,” Willow replied. “I had supplies to buy, and I thought the rent was covered, especially after this summer.”

 

There was a part of Buffy that thought it was incredibly unfair of Willow to be holding the summer against her now. She’d been dead, after all—she’d _died to save the world_ —and she’d assumed that her friends would look after Dawn because they cared about her, and about Buffy.

 

And now _this_.

 

“If I can’t pay my bills, then Dawn and I need to find another place to live,” Buffy said bluntly. “And we have to do it soon.”

 

Willow stared at her. “Then I guess I should find somewhere else, too.”

 

“If you could help out even a little bit,” Buffy started.

 

“I’m taking a full course load, and I have other things going on,” Willow replied. “I can’t believe you’re just bringing this up now.”

 

“Will—”

 

Willow stared at her, clearly feeling betrayed. “At this point in the semester, it’s going to be nearly impossible to find decent on campus housing for next semester.”

 

Buffy wanted to demand how Willow was going to pay for on campus housing when she couldn’t afford to chip in around _Buffy’s_ house, where she’d been living rent-free since Buffy took over paying the bills in October.

 

And, okay, that was only two months, but Buffy had struggled to pay for the damage the demon had done, and struggled to buy groceries, and struggled to _fucking get out of bed in the morning_.

 

Giles left because he wanted Buffy to stand on her own feet, but she couldn’t do that; the math just didn’t add up.

 

She needed help, and if she didn’t get it, she was going to lose the house. So far, the only person who seemed interested in helping was Spike.

 

“Then I guess I should wish you luck,” Buffy said bitterly.

 

“I’m going to need it,” Willow replied.

 

And Buffy wondered just what the hell she was going to do now.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike found her sitting on the back steps after the sun went down, and she looked like the world was on her shoulders. He hated seeing that look on her face, and he sat down next to her. “We have to stop meeting like this, Summers.”

 

She managed a half-hearted smile. “We do.”

 

“Where’s the sister?” Spike asked.

 

“Doing homework,” Buffy replied. “I caught her in my room last night, going through my things. She wanted to know why you could just come back like nothing had ever happened.”

 

Spike winced. “Did she get her answers?”

 

“I explained a few things,” Buffy replied. “We talked things out. I think she gets it a little better now.”

 

“What’s to get?” Spike asked, honestly curious.

 

Buffy pressed her shoulder against his. “That the timing has never been right before, but it might be now.”

 

Spike looked down at the step, smiling. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“So?”

 

“So, I asked Willow for help making ends meet since she’s living here, and she said she couldn’t possibly,” Buffy said. “She said she and Tara took care of Dawn all summer, and she thought given all of that, she shouldn’t have to help.”

 

Spike couldn’t help it. “Bitch.”

 

Buffy’s lips twitched. “And then she said how hard it was going to be to find decent on-campus housing.”

 

Spike frowned. “So, she couldn’t help you why?”

 

“She’s been different since I got back,” Buffy admitted. “She’s not the person I knew before I died. At first, I thought it was me, but now…”

 

Spike tipped his head back. “Dark magic changes a person, at least it does humans.”

 

“Giles didn’t warn me,” Buffy replied.

 

“Maybe it’s because he hoped it would be different for her,” Spike said. “Or maybe he was in denial.”

 

Buffy shook her head. “I’m going to have to sell the house. I think _I’ve_ been in denial about that.”

 

Spike frowned. “How much do you need?”

 

“Spike—”

 

“How much?” Spike asked insistently. “Break it down for me. How much this month?”

 

Buffy bit her lip and said, “We’re covered this month, but I need at least $300 in rent and help with groceries.”

 

“Done,” Spike said easily.

 

Buffy looked at him incredulously. “That easy?”

 

“I’ve got a job,” Spike said. “It’s infrequent, but not _that_ infrequent. I can get the money without resorting to anything illegal, unless you count getting paid under the table and not paying taxes.”

 

Buffy smiled, but her expression held no humor. “Funny. I thought you were supposed to be the evil one.”

 

“I am evil,” Spike said automatically, although he wasn’t sure that was true anymore. He wasn’t _good_ ; he knew that much. He had no feelings of altruism for the human race, and anything he did was for Buffy, his motivations entirely centered on her and what would make her happy.

 

If a demon could love, he supposed he might say that he loved her, but he wouldn’t, not out loud.

 

He understood Buffy, was the thing, and Spike thought she might respond better to actions, rather than words. He could spout poetry, and she liked that sort of thing, but if they wanted to build something together, if their broken pieces were meant to fit together, she had to _believe_ it.

 

So, instead, he spoke the language she understood, and he said, “‘Certainty, fidelity, on the stroke of midnight pass like vibrations of a bell, and fashionable madmen raise their pedantic boring cry: every farthing of the cost, all the dreaded cards foretell, shall be paid, but from this night not a whisper, not a thought, not a kiss or look be lost.’”

 

Buffy rested her head on his shoulder. “Who was that?”

 

“W.H. Auden,” Spike replied. “A bit of one of his poems.”

 

Buffy let out a deep, audible breath. “You know, I don’t really understand half of anything I read or hear when it’s poetry.”

 

“But you like it,” Spike said, certain of that answer at least.

 

Buffy touched her stomach. “I feel it _here_. And I think I feel what it’s too hard to say out loud.”

 

“What do you need from me?” Spike asked, because he wanted to be what she needed.

 

Getting the chip out had been for him, but mostly so he could come back and be what Buffy needed him to be.

 

“We should patrol,” Buffy said, and the way she said it, Spike knew she meant for more than that.

 

And when they didn’t meet any bad guys along the way, Spike allowed Buffy to shove him to the ground, to unzip his pants and hers just enough to ride him hard, to take her pleasure from him.

 

To know that he would give it to her wholeheartedly, in full measure, without stint.

 

“What does it say that I feel the most normal I ever am with you?” Buffy asked after they were both sated.

 

“Probably about the same thing it says about me,” Spike replied, which was the closest he’d ever get to using his own words to tell her how he felt.

 

Probably. Maybe. There was a chance he’d be brave enough eventually, when he was more certain she’d accept the words from him.

 

“I don’t want to give up the house,” Buffy said suddenly, “and neither does Dawn. I know it’s where Mom died, and it would probably be easier and cheaper if I did but—”

 

“It’s where your mum was alive, too,” Spike supplied. “And letting the house go would be like letting her go for good, every last bit of her, and you’re afraid there won’t be anything left.”

 

And Buffy pressed her face against his shoulder and said nothing more, but Spike didn’t mind.

 

He _understood_ her, and a hell of a lot better than most, it seemed.

 

~~~~~

 

Buffy knew that she hadn’t done well by Tara. As with any breakup, everything tended to get split up in the divorce, and Buffy and Xander had been Willow’s friends first. If Buffy hadn’t been so caught up in her own misery, she might have been able to spare more than a few seconds for Tara’s own heartbreak.

 

Tara had been there for Buffy after her mom died, and she’d been there for Dawn during the long summer. And then, when Spike had returned, Tara had pointed him in the right direction.

 

Buffy owed her, but it was more than that. Dawn _wanted_ her, and Buffy needed a friend who was stable and wouldn’t think less of her for being with Spike.

 

Xander would hold it against her, which was one of the reasons Buffy hadn’t exactly been forthcoming, and she wasn’t interested in dealing with the disapproval right now.

 

She still hesitated before knocking on Tara’s door, her own failings fresh in her mind, causing her to be uncertain of her welcome.

 

Tara opened the door and stared in surprise. “Buffy. Hey.”

 

“Hi,” Buffy said softly. “I’m sorry. Let me say that first off.”

 

Tara frowned. “Sorry for what?”

 

“For not being there for you,” Buffy replied. “I should have been. You were there for us when our mom died, and you were there for Dawn.”

 

Tara moved out of the way and waved her inside. “Come in. Do you want a cup of tea?”

 

“Yeah, I would,” Buffy replied, understanding that Tara needed a moment to compose herself. “Thanks.”

 

“It’s no problem,” Tara replied as she filled the kettle. “How are you and Spike doing?”

 

Buffy smiled. “Good. I mean, we have our moments, and we’re still figuring out how to be together when we’re both kind of broken.”

 

Tara grabbed a couple of mugs and a box of tea bags from the cupboard. “Have you ever heard of kintsugi?”

 

“Bless you,” Buffy said automatically, pleased when Tara smiled.

 

“It’s Japanese,” Tara said. “I ran across it during an art class. My professor collected pieces.”

 

Buffy frowned. “Okay, but I’m not sure what that has to do with me.”

 

“The idea behind kintsugi is that our scars are made beautiful, and are celebrated,” Tara explained. “Broken pottery is glued back together, but the glue is mixed with precious metals to highlight where the cracks were.”

 

Buffy stared down at her hands. “No offense, but I’m not sure what happened to me could ever be beautiful.”

 

Tara was quiet. “Maybe not now, but someday, when you start to feel as though you have as much as you lost, or when what you’ve lost is a little more distant. Maybe it will feel more like a badge of honor than anything else.”

 

“Maybe,” Buffy allowed, and felt a sliver of hope. “There was another reason I came here, other than to apologize.”

 

The kettle whistled, and Tara poured it into the two mugs. “If this is about Willow’s magic use, I can’t help you. She won’t listen to me.”

 

“Turns out that she won’t listen to me either,” Buffy said with a sigh. “I asked her to help out with rent and that sort of thing, and she said she couldn’t possibly.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Tara said. “What are you going to do?”

 

“Spike is going to help,” Buffy admitted. “He understands that I need to keep the house.”

 

Tara sat down next to her. “Of course you do. It’s your home, and Dawn deserves some stability.”

 

“It was my mom’s place,” Buffy said. “But I know you’d understand that.”

 

Tara glanced down at her mug. “Not really. My mom’s place was more my dad’s, and she told me to get out if I could.”

 

“And then you got chased out of your home when you and Willow broke up,” Buffy said knowingly. “That’s actually what I came to talk to you about.”

 

Tara looked up at her. “I’m not sure I understand.”

 

“There’s no pressure,” Buffy was quick to assure her. “Spike said he could cover the deficit between what we’ve got coming in, and our expenses. I’m looking for a job, and so I might not even need that, although I’d love to have more wiggle room in the budget.”

 

Tara frowned. “I’m not sure what you’re getting at.”

 

“When I talked to Dawn about what she wanted, she specifically said that if Willow chose not to stay, she wanted you to come back,” Buffy said. “Don’t answer now. Willow was planning to go back to the dorms, I think. You have some time. If it doesn’t work out, or if you don’t want to, no hard feelings.”

 

Tara nodded. “I’ll have to consider it.”

 

That wasn’t a no, and Buffy figured she’d have to live with it. “Thanks.”

 

“I can’t pay much in rent,” Tara warned her.

 

“Think about it, and let me know,” Buffy replied. “If you think you might be interested, we can talk about rent and the rest.”

 

“Fair enough,” Tara replied. “Are you okay, though?”

 

Buffy looked at her. “To be honest, no, I’m not, but I’m better than I was. And, um, thank you for telling me about the sneeze art. It’s something to work toward. Beautiful cracks, I mean.”

 

Tara laughed. “You and me both.”

 

She left to meet up with Spike outside of his crypt, and greeted him with a kiss. “Hey.”

 

“Hey,” Spike replied. “Where were you coming from?”

 

“Asking Tara if she wanted to come back once Willow leaves,” Buffy replied. “She was telling me about broken pottery.”

 

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Pottery.”

 

Buffy hesitated. “I don’t know. It sounded like a sneeze, but it’s where people glue things back together with pretty glue. I don’t know! It was inspirational.”

 

Spike didn’t respond for the longest time, and then he said, “You mean kintsugi?”

 

Buffy stared at him. “How did you know that?”

 

“I travel,” Spike protested. “I was in China during the Boxer Rebellion, and we passed through Japan.”

 

“And looked at pottery,” Buffy said.

 

Spike hitched a shoulder. “I picked a few things up.”

 

“You’re just full of surprises,” Buffy replied, and then she reached out for his hand.

 

Sometimes she wanted to ride him hard, and sometimes she just wanted to hold Spike’s hand on patrol.

 

Spike entwined their fingers in response, and said, “You say this knowing I have poetry memorized.”

 

“Poetry and Japanese sneeze pottery are two completely different things,” Buffy protested, but she leaned against him in response, and Spike smiled. It was a good look for him.

 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Summers,” Spike replied. “But maybe you’ll have time to learn.”

 

“I hope I do,” Buffy said, and meant every word.

 

~~~~~

 

Spike knew what he had to do after their conversation, although he wasn’t sure how it was going to get done. Other than the book of Tennyson’s poems that had been one of his cherished possessions, and the postcards he’d sent, Spike hadn’t given Buffy many gifts.

 

Well, any gifts, really.

 

But he wanted to give her _something_ —something perfect, something beautiful, something she could look at that would represent _them_.

 

Dru had been just as likely to discard any tokens of affection as to cherish them, but he remembered what Buffy had said about Dawn snooping, and that seemed to indicate that Buffy kept some of the things he’d given her, and the things he’d sent.

 

Spike might not have a lot of money, but he wanted to get Buffy something to brighten her day and put a smile on her face. Broken pottery was probably doable.

 

When Buffy told him about the conversation with Tara, he remembered the crockery he’d seen, usually while he’d been in the middle of ransacking them.

 

There had been one place in particular, right after they left China to spend some time in Japan, when Angelus had managed to ingratiate himself with the head of a household, and they’d responded by sucking everyone dry.

 

The people had been minor nobles, and therefore killing them brought more trouble than it was worth, but Darla and Dru had been enamored of all the pretty things in the house, while Angelus had been more interested in the daughters.

 

Spike, still drunk on Slayer’s blood, had been somewhat indifferent to all of it, although he’d done his fair share of pillaging. He had, bluntly, wanted more of a challenge than the homeowners or their virginal, sheltered daughters could bring, and had started making plans to maybe find a samurai just to get his blood up.

 

But while Angelus had tormented the two girls, and Darla and Dru had dressed up in the traditional clothing and helped torment their captives, Spike had been munching his way through the staff and wandering the house.

 

And he’d seen a teapot that had surely been exquisite before being broken into half a dozen pieces, but had been glued back together, the cracks highlighted in gold, and he’d thought it beautiful.

 

He’d shaken off that thought in the next moment and had thrown it against the wall, smashing it so thoroughly that it could never be put back together again.

 

Spike had taken a roundabout way back to Sunnydale after getting the chip out, and he’d stopped in Japan, and had seen more of those beautifully broken objects—cups and teapots and vases—and this time he’d asked what they were.

 

 _Kintsugi_ had come the reply, and the explanation had resonated with him as much as poetry often did, because even now Spike could feel the cracks in his own sense of self, just as he could see them in Buffy.

 

And so, seeing that same wonder in her eyes he’d felt twice now, Spike began asking around as to how a bloke might procure one of those pieces.

 

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Maris asked a couple of weeks later.

 

Spike shrugged. “I want to get my girl a gift. What’s wrong with that?”

 

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Maris replied. “I just thought weapons would be more her things, or diamonds. There isn’t a woman in the world who doesn’t like diamonds.”

 

Spike raised an eyebrow. “Drusilla always thought they were too cold.”

 

“No _sane_ woman,” Maris amended.

 

“As for weapons, she’s got those already,” Spike continued. “This is something different.”

 

Maris stared at him. “Broken pottery.”

 

“Artistically broken and glued together pottery,” Spike returned, picking up the vase from the box. The original color was a jade green, the color of Buffy’s eyes, and the cracks had been filled in with gold lacquer, imperfectly applied and smudged in places. Spike didn’t mind, as that put it in his price range. “And a relatively ancient art form, all things considered.”

 

Maris shook her head. “Well, you’re dating her, and it’s going to cost you.”

 

Spike winced. “I can pick up a few more deliveries.”

 

“No, I think I’ll take a favor at a later date,” Maris said. “Nothing that would get you into hot water with the Slayer, but something I’d need a man of your talents for.”

 

Spike hesitated, then shrugged; he trusted Maris that much, because the heat would come back on her. “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

 

He carefully wrapped the vase back up in tissue paper and placed it back into the box.

 

While he wanted to give the vase to Buffy, he wanted to stage it just right. He wanted to watch her open the package, but if she didn’t like it, he didn’t want to be in there when she rejected it.

 

 _If_ she rejected it. She might not.

 

The sun was just beginning to set, and Spike peeked up through the manhole, checking to see if the route to the Summers’ front door was clear. He pulled his jacket up over his head and leapt straight up, running towards the front of the house.

 

Spike was relieved to find the front door unlocked, although he’d probably need to have a word with Buffy about that. Vampires might not be able to enter without an invitation, but demons and other bad guys could walk right in.

 

Still, it worked out well for him this time, and he started up the stairs with the box under his arm only to be confronted with Dawn, who was standing at the top of the stairs.

 

“What are you doing?” Dawn demanded.

 

Spike hesitated. “I’m leaving a gift for your big sis.”

 

“How come you couldn’t give it to her later?” Dawn asked.

 

“None of your business,” Spike snapped.

 

Dawn glared. “What if it’s dangerous?”

 

“I’d never do anything to hurt Buffy!” Spike replied.

 

“Like leaving?”

 

“I explained about that,” Spike said. “And I think your sister did, too.”

 

Dawn softened slightly. “Can I see?”

 

“You aren’t going to spoil it, are you?” Spike asked suspiciously.

 

“No, of course not,” Dawn replied.

 

Spike led her into Buffy’s room, and he put the box on the table, well in sight of the window that looked out onto the front yard. From his usual spot under the tree, he would be able to see her open it, and would be able to see her response, and he could proceed accordingly.

 

Dawn opened the box, and carefully pulled back the paper to reveal the small vase. Spike was ready to explain, but then he saw the expression on Dawn’s face.

 

Dawn turned the vase over in her hands and traced one of the smudged gold lines with a finger, and she said softly, “It’s beautiful. Buffy will love it.”

 

“You think?” Spike asked.

 

Dawn nodded. “I’m sure of it.”

 

“I’ll just leave this here for her, then,” Spike said.

 

“I won’t say a word,” Dawn promised. As he turned to leave, she said, “You’re pretty okay.”

 

Spike glanced at her. “Same to you.”

 

He went back to the sewer because the sun was high enough to be a danger to him, and he wanted to wait until Buffy came home before he came out.

 

Spike was impatient, but he stifled that impatience, wanting the pay out more than he wanted immediate satisfaction. Once the sun had set, Spike emerged from the sewers and started lurking far enough away that Buffy wasn’t likely to note his presence, but he was acutely attuned to her.

 

When he sensed her coming, he drifted closer, winding up under the tree in her front yard. To stifle his nerves, he lit a cigarette and leaned against the trunk. Spike could see the lights come on through the house one at a time, marking Buffy’s progress.

 

After a few tension-filled moments, he saw her outlined against her window. The curtains had been drawn when he’d been up there earlier, but Dawn must have pulled them open, because he could see her clearly.

 

Her hair was pulled back, and he could make out her expression—unhappy, tense, and weary—right up until she saw the box.

 

Buffy frowned, and looked over her shoulder.

 

Spike held his breath.

 

Buffy opened the box and pulled out the vase, and Spike could see the incandescent smile that lit her face as she held it up, and began to trace the golden lines with her fingers.

 

She put the box aside, then set the vase in a place of prominence, where Spike could see it, and then she looked straight out the window, and he could swear she met his eyes, that same bright smile lighting up her face.

 

And Spike knew, broken as they were, they fit together just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem is from W.H. Auden's "Lullaby"


End file.
